Take Me Back
by MidnightMarshmallows
Summary: Set two years post-Thrones. Ships approach the shore, horn blasts alert The Queen in the North to their arrival.
1. Prologue

"To the ships!" came the call for retreat from a masked form, pointing their sword in the direction of the coast. "The women and children to the lower decks! Man the cannons! We sail when I get aboard!"

"Man the cannons!" a soldier yelled ahead, setting off a chain of commands from their leader.

"Peter! Grab ten horsemen and come with me!"

"Yes m'lady!" He yelled over the hail of arrows, war chants of their opponents and screams of terror coming from the nearby village.

"Fucking barbarians never quite stop do they?!" She muttered under her breath and kicked the sides of her mount into a gallop. "Yah!" She swept her blade through ten men, a few horses and a couple of mounted riders before her second in command returned with a small strike force.

"Do we have a plan of attack?" Peter yelled again over the ruckus.

"Don't know, maybe kill the bastards? Get clean so we can get going?" their leader barked her orders and lifted the bottom of her mask to show him her smile.

"M'lady." He shook his head and smiled. "Get clear! Cleave through whatever you need to!"

"Ser!"

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The fleet of ten ships set sail in search of safety. The storms at sea had thrown off the navigators, as they now drifted into uncharted waters. Their mission to find land, safe enough to moor up to, was proving fruitless. The sea captain's decision was to weigh anchor as soon as they could, in a bid to keep their passengers safe and to keep the boats intact, in the hopes that the storms passed quickly.

Luckily, after two days, the treacherous storms passed. With around the clock maintenance being performed, the ships were in good enough a condition to sail.

The lady of the company, a short, slender woman, tried her best never to show her face, unless she was with her close company of men. She preferred to remain unseen, for her own safety. The last thing she needed was people out looking for her, with something to gain from her name.

She patrolled the deck of the flagship a few times a day, talking with the crew, meeting with her officers and reassuring the vulnerable among her band of followers. She only took her rest for meals and sleep, even then, she remained mostly restless.

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"Land ho!"

A few days, some buckets of vomit and a drenched crew later, the small fleet discovered land. They'd finally reached their destination.

"Men," the lady breathed, the shore in plain sight on the horizon. "We're home."


	2. Colourless

"Apologies, my Queen. They bare no colours."

Queen Sansa, resplendent upon her throne, tapped at the arm rests impatiently as she held council in the throne room at Winterfell. The Queen in the North had been bored, over the last week, by tales of a small band of ships approaching the Westerosi shore to the North. She looked to her Master of Ships. "So, what are they then? Pirates? Unmarked traders?" She raised an eyebrow. "You know better than to come to me with just 'apologies' Lord Manderly..."

"Of course, your Grace."

"Anyone else have any news on our new seafaring friends?" Sansa posed, looking to her other advisors. However, she did look up to the grand doors when they opened wide, foot fall heavy as a number of men walked through.

"Some say it's your sister, my Queen!" A heavily accented voice boomed into the room.

"What are you doing here?" She asked with a mischievous grin, rising from her seat, advisors following suit, to greet them. "It's been time, Jon."

"Aye, it has." He smiled, throwing his arms around his cousin and lifting her an inch from the ground. He laid her down and smiled. "Look at you, the crown suits you well."

"Oftentimes it does." She smiled, holding his hand with both of hers. "What of Arya?"

"I've heard tell that Stark grey sails approach but, as is with other reports, no colours." Jon declared, arms folded across his chest.

"Suggesting...?"

"Suggesting that over the last few moons that we've seen her, the sigils painted upon them... have faded." He sighed a little, hanging his head slightly. "That or the tolls of her travels, have lead them to be heavily patched by repairs. Enough to leave them unrecognisable."

Sansa nodded and smiled, turning once more to her Master of Ships. "That, Lord Manderly, is the kind of report I expect.

Manderly bowed. "Yes, my Queen."

She looked back towards Jon and placed her hand on his shoulder. "Give Lady Moorheed a full inventory. Number of men, horses... you'll have whatever you need, brother."

"You're not sending me back north?" Jon replied, his eyes widened in shock.

"Of course not. The Unsullied and Dothraki are gone. Bran is dead. His indifference towards you was abominable to be quite honest." She shook her head. "Besides, this is my kingdom. Therefore, my rule being absolute, so long as you don't step outside northern borders, your crimes are void."

"Sansa..."

"Jon?"

"So... he didn't survive his fever?"

Sansa gasped, covering her mouth. "Oh... I'm sorry, Jon, I-I thought you... knew." a solemn look crossed her face. "I sent a Raven north with news and I... I suppose, wrongly assumed that you knew."

"It's alright." He whispered, his voice mildly choked with grief. "I'd heard that Bronn and Tyrion had been serving as regents in the sick king's stead. I just... didn't expect to hear that he'd died."

Sansa sighed. "Come. Take the inventory and I'll have food sent to your quart—"

"Your Grace! Banners approach!" a herald ran, bellowing, into the throne room.

"Friend or foe?" Sansa demanded.

"Stags of house Baratheon, your Grace!" He panted with exhaustion.

"Another one of my Small Council's oversights!" She shouted in annoyance. "What good are advisors that do not provide me with sound advice?" She barked, shooting daggers at her council, who bowed submissively. "The Crone keep me from the grave!" She finished, looking to Jon. "Forgive me. I have a Lord to meet at my gates." her eyes rolled and Jon smiled sheepishly. "Would the de facto 'King beyond the wall' accompany me?"

Jon offered her his arm. "Your Grace." He bowed, mockingly, towards the Queen, incurring a smack on the back of the hand for his troubles.

They walked together into the courtyard, the warmth of summer bathing it in its light. Upon reaching the gates, Sansa nodded to the guards, giving the order to open them.

"Open the gates!" the Lord Commander of her guard announced.


	3. Deepwood

At the head of the sea of men, rode Lord Gendry Baratheon. The strapping, young, determined warlord jumped down from his horse and strode through the gates, his closest council at his back. He stopped short of Jon and Sansa and bowed deeply. "Your Grace." He stood and smiled at his friend, embracing him. "Jon." He stepped back after a short moment and regarded Sansa.

"Lord Gendry." Sansa smiled. "Welcome. Dare I ask what brings you here at such short notice?"

"I think you know," Gendry glanced at Jon. "why I'm here."

"Explain?" Sansa stared at Jon, who bit his lip and smirked. She took a breath and smiled. "Still? After all that?"

"I... I heard and I had to come."

"I'm the last to know?" Sansa put her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes.

"I'm afraid so." Jon smiled. "Though Lord Gendry has no doubt been keeping eyes in the west ever since the Lady Arya left two years ago..."

"Jon..." Gendry stared at him, shaking his head rapidly, defeated.

Sansa chuckled and invited Gendry and his court into Winterfell. "Please, Lady Moorhead will be thrilled to accommodate _two_ unexpected travelling parties."

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A few hours after dawn, a loud horn sounded, sending its signal across all of the north. It had come from the westernmost keep and therefore closest to the sea, Deepwood Motte. No longer under the control of House Glover, the Motte had become somewhat of a rest stop for fishermen. It was also used as a look out point, you could see for miles, Bear Island clearly visible to the north, the shore to the west still.

One. Two blasts. Two blasts of the horn meant 'exercise caution'. One meant that the approaching ships were friendly, three meant danger.

Sansa awoke to the sound of the horns in the distance. Her handmaidens entered her chambers with flustered urgency.

"Ships approach, your Grace." The young Lady Lara Flint, chief handmaiden, announced. "Two blasts." She continued, picking out a dress for Sansa to wear.

She outstretched her arms so that her ladies may cloth her. "So I hear." a sleepy smirk crossed her lips. "The new horn blower at the Motte must have an expansive lung capacity."

The ladies laughed together as they dressed Sansa and made her ready for the morning.

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The ride from Winterfell to Deepwood Motte wasn't long, a few hours at most down the flattened roads. Sansa's men had confirmed that ten 'Stark grey' sails were headed for shore. No more, at the time, than a couple of hours away, winds allowing.

She was excited to see her sister but, was worried by the woman that she may meet. Last time they'd reunited, Arya wasn't the girl that Sansa was separated from at Kings Landing. She was changed by her experiences, for better and worse.

That was... if it was indeed Arya. As of yet, that was unconfirmed.

She could see the anxiety painted on Gendry's handsome face. The poor man had pined over Arya, for longer than the two years she'd been gone and Sansa could read him like a book. He still loved her. _I wish somebody could love me the way he loves her... and I love someone the way Arya wouldn't admit that she adored Gendry._ she mused, uncomfortably, silently, as they made their approach.

The steward of the Motte rode out to greet the Queen and her company, guiding them through the hilly streets to the docks. The ships hadn't quite landed yet but, they were incredibly close.

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The ships docked. The tribespeople filtered out first, then the soldiers, their horses and companions. They carried saddlebags full of scrolls, maps and wares to shore with them, whether or not they'd be of much worth or use, they didn't care. At this point, their lives were enough.

They had heard reports from the east, that the Dothraki had completely upended the villages on the outskirts of the 'Pale Lady's' settlement. Arya was devastated by the news. She'd done her utmost to ward off the invading horse lords, to protect her 'people' from their fate at the tips of their arakhs, lashes and hooves.

She'd brought as much as she could with her. They'd all but ran out of foodstuffs, farmers having been picked off by arrows, shot from nearby forest lines. Their voyage had been kind to all but a handful of her company, mostly the elderly and very young.

She finally disembarked, upon her white mare, and rode down the ramps at the dock. When she had passed the sea of curious fishermen, she spotted the sea of humanity in front of her. She called Peter to her side.

"So... washing the paint from the sails didn't work?"


	4. Brothers

_If this is my damned sister's doing, I'm going to scream. I know she's the Queen and I know all too well that I'm her subject but, I wanted -and half expected- to arrive home to little fanfare. I suppose that won't be the case..._

_—_————————————————

Arya's band of followers and soldiers meandered through the streets, on her orders, to drag out the time before she had to be 'Lady Arya Stark of Winterfell' again. She'd quite liked leaving that all behind two years ago. She still had to endure the odd 'milady' but, mostly she'd just been Arya. Not Lady Stark. She rode quietly next to Peter, his beautiful black stallion -that he took from a battle with the Dothraki as a prize- trotting proudly next to her.

"Are you alright?" Peter nudged Arya's shin with his toe, from his mount. He'd noticed the colour drain from her already pale features.

She swallowed shallowly and nodded. "Bloody Sansa..." a small, sarcastic chuckle arose from her.

"Ah, yes." He smiled and sat up straighter. "The Queen in the North!" He finished mockingly.

Arya grinned, kicking him. "Not so loud!" she giggled for real this time. "She's probably called all of her banners and thrown out the red carpet..."

"Fun."

"Mmmm."

"I thought you hated that sort of thing."

"I do." Her eyes flashed a glare. "I hate being fawned over." She quietly picked at her horse's reigns for a moment. "I wonder what she'll have you become for accompanying me all this way..."

Peter's eyebrows raised so high that they practically flew off his face. "What do you mean?"

"Holdfasts are practically going spare at the moment. Lands need Lords." She smirked, knowing how much Peter, a wandering soldier of exceedingly low birth, would hate such a responsibility.

"I wouldn't think twice about respectfully declining. Oh and leaving very shortly afterward!" He scoffed, Arya giggling loudly. "What's so funny?"

"You'd turn down a home and lands that would sustain themselves, financially and agriculturally, for many generations to come?" Arya posed. "You'd never have to think of the streets as home again."

Peter sighed. "Aye, I wouldn't but, I'd rather have a farmhouse, with a little land, that I could work myself..." a small smile crossed his face. "All I'd need was a wife to share it with."

Arya smirked. "Well, I'm sure the party Sansa will no doubt throw tonight will be full of potential wives for you to choose from..."

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"Do you see anything yet?" Gendry asked one of his men, worrying his sword hilt.

"Nothing but fishermen Milord."

"The ship arrived an hour ago." Jon added, looking over to Sansa. "Should we go and investigate?"

"No." Sansa smiled. "If it is her, she'll be taking her time."

"My Queen," Lord Manderly piped up, a few riders at his back. "My scouts have spotted a band of..." one of his men laid a hand on his shoulder and whispered to him. "Savages?!"

Sansa raised her left eyebrow. "Savages, Lord Manderly?" She smirked and looked towards Jon. "I think not. How could 'savages' procure a ship?"

"I report what I hear, My Queen."

Jon laughed. "Gendry?" He tilted his head towards the docks and smiled. Gendry nodded and called a few men to join them.

"Lord Manderly," Sansa called out. "Come, wait with me." The stout, old Lord rode up to the Queen and sheepishly brought his horse to a standstill next to her. "I'd hate to see that this band of savages is merely my tired, tattered and unwashed sister and her crew." she smiled softly. "Don't disappoint me again."

Lord Manderly cleared his throat and bowed his head. "Yes, My Queen."

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Arya drew a deep breath as she started to recognise banners in the near distance. Stood proudly at the front was the grey dire wolf. Her sister's house. Her house. Nearby were houses Manderly and Reed, the two largest remaining Northern houses after her own. Others she recognised were Southern... but, why? The Northern and Southern kingdoms were divided now.

_Perhaps Bran's sent someone on his behalf? _She thought. _He's still my brother after all. Despite being a Southern King and the Three Eyed Raven..._

Her eyes shot to the left as she heard hoovebeat approaching. "Everyone around me!" She alerted her men as quietly as she could manage. "Ride before the tribespeople." They quickly surrounded her, getting into formation, hands on swords, ready to fight. They rode through the tribespeople, moving them aside as they passed. As they reached the front of the crowd, Arya saw the one banner that she hadn't expected to see.

"Ease! Weapons down." She growled, stopping short of the approaching men.

"Welcome home." Jon smiled, tucking Longclaw back into its sheath.

Arya softened a little, staring at the banner infront of her. "I see you got rid of the crown..."

"I... yeah, well, Baratheons aren't kings anymore." Gendry murmured. "It's good to... uh, good to have you back, Lady Ary—"

"Why are you here?" Arya snapped, cutting Gendry off. "Jon, you were banished! How come you're south of the Wall and still have your head?" She sighed, still not looking directly at either man. "I assume the King of the Six Kingdoms sent you, Lord Gendry..."

"Well," Jon began. "Your royal sister declared my crimes void within the North so, I'm free here. The freefolk caught sight of an unmarked ship approaching shore, just off Bear Island... we came to alert the Queen. Could've been anybody..."

"But, you thought it was me."

"Stark grey sails they said. No sigil but, that was enough." Jon replied sheepishly.

"And you?" She finally dared glance towards Gendry.

"Jon sent a raven." He whispered, looking quickly up at her. "I regret to inform you that... the K-King couldn't have sent me... a fever took him."

She gripped the reigns tighter, her pale skin turning further white. "Bran's..."

"I only just heard myself." Jon added.

"When?"

"... a year ago."


End file.
